Running on Fumes

by Alex Penuelas   Mar 13, 2017

I place the pen on the paper,
Trying my hardest to create
a powerful poem or
a soft sonnet,
But, try as I might,
I cannot transfer my mechanical movements
Into smooth symphonies.

I've been at this
For a couple of weeks,
Trying desperately to regain
The force that has laid
Dormant within me,
And had only recently been
Awakened again.

I know the bug is within me,
The voice that's stuck inside
That claws desperately on the ink
to express itself in its
Full splendor.

But, try as I might,
My mind minds not
About what my soul seeks to share.

The neurons within my mind
Lay dormant,
The inspiration that once
Raced through my synapses
Is nothing more than a
Faint memory.

I feared that this day would come.

I lowered my head,
And sadly smile,
Realizing that this poetry craze
Had only existed for a while.

But then, out of the
Recesses of my mind,
A single word appears:

Suddenly, my muscles move in a
Maniacal method to match my mind's
Materialized madness.

I swiftly swing my arms
To and fro,
Back and forth,
Up and down,
Like a pendulum pushed to its
maximum wavelength.

In order to
manufacture a masterful manipulation
of matter, creating a colorful concoction
Of combined phonetic puffs of air.

Until, finally,
The words and the phrases,
The rhymes and the rhythms,
All combine to clearly state
Just one simple thing:

"You are so beautiful. More than you will ever know."


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